


Vile

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 00:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Glorfindel learns the rest of Erestor.





	Vile

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He waits inside the hallway, just under the arches, half hidden in the shadows of a pillar. He watches the starlight shift across the gardens outside and listens to the crickets hum. For all that he can see, it’s a peaceful night. But Glorfindel’s heart is heavy. He hears the footsteps coming. 

He straightens to attention, and when the dark figure passes by him, barely more than a silhouette in the unlit corridor, Glorfindel speaks. “Erestor.”

The footsteps stop. The figure turns towards him, pale skin washed ash white in the stark lighting of the evening. Glorfindel thinks he can still see a sliver of red in Erestor’s eyes. Erestor’s lips remain in a tight frown, expression stern, as Glorfindel asks, “Did you enjoy your hunt?”

Erestor lifts a brow. His hair is washed jet-black, cascading down his shoulders with more wave than usual—perhaps the wind has tussled it. He asks, “What do you mean?”

Glorfindel sucks in a breath. It would be so easy to end it now, to just accept his friend for what he knows and walk away. But Glorfindel has to know. He steels himself over for the truth and stalks forward. 

He grabs Erestor’s chin and forces his jaw open. Erestor gasps at the rough treatment but doesn’t resist. His mouth falls open, and Glorfindel sees all the proof he needs. The pointed fangs are already receding. Glorfindel watches, mesmerized, as they slowly flatten out into regular Elven teeth. The red glimmer is all but gone. Glorfindel croaks out, “I knew it.”

He’s suspected for a long time. Far _too_ long. He let himself get too close. Everyone else in Imladris seemed to trust Erestor, and it made denial easy. Erestor breaks out of Glorfindel’s hold and bitterly turns away. 

Glorfindel expects some form of argument, but nothing comes. Erestor has never directly lied about it to him, and there is no lie now. Erestor quietly offers, “I only feed on other carnivores. Goblins and beasts. ...Though they taste _disgusting_...”

Glorfindel winces from the mental imagery alone. He can’t imagine Lord Elrond’s advisor, so wise and proper, bending down to eat the flesh of a living creature. It’s completely inconceivable. When he looks at Erestor, Glorfindel sees an image of pure beauty: something so ethereal and perfect. Even this doesn’t fully taint it; he _still_ finds Erestor incredibly handsome. 

A small part of him is even _glad_, because it’s good to know the truth. His suspicions weren’t mad. Gaze cast aside, Erestor quietly asks, “Will you kill me now?”

“What?”

“You are the Balrog slayer.” Erestor’s eyes finally flicker back. They’re intense, but full of acceptance, as though to say he won’t resist. He also won’t die without dignity. “The hero of song. Protector of the people. And you have found one touched by darkness in Lord Elrond’s halls.”

Glorfindel frowns, shoulders heavy. Erestor murmurs, “I will not fight you.” And that’s mildly heartbreaking. 

Glorfindel is slow in his answer. He knows that Erestor speaks the truth. He knows he holds some duty to the light, and he’s swayed now merely by sentiment: he’s thinking with his heart instead of his mind. He doesn’t have it in him to raise a sword to the beauty that he’s admired for so long. 

He answers, “You have Lord Elrond’s trust, and mine as well. I will not hurt you.”

Erestor’s eyes widen slightly. They actually look _surprised._ Glorfindel admits, “I am just pleased to know the truth.”

Erestor looks at him for a long moment. There is no apology—of course Erestor could never have shared the truth himself. Glorfindel doesn’t blame him for that. Eventually, Erestor’s impenetrable features start to soften. 

He tells Glorfindel, “Thank you.” Then he swallows and promises, “I will never betray that trust.”

He even reaches out his hand. Glorfindel takes it in his, squeezes, and feels the usual lack of warmth that first stirred his curiosity. It doesn’t matter. The touch still sends a shiver up his spine in the best of ways. Glorfindel would lift it to his lips, but Erestor’s already withdrawing. 

He sweeps off towards his quarters. Somehow, knowing fully what he is, Glorfindel only finds him more intoxicating.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [... Fear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21546217) by [raiyana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana)


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